


Say You Love Me (Afterdeath)

by JustYourAveragePerson



Series: Sanscest [1]
Category: Aftertale - Fandom, Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: AU Crossover, Accidents, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Aftertale, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Reapertale, Angst, Angst and Feels, Arguments, Bad Pick-Up Lines, Bad Puns, Bad Touch, Betrayal, Blood, Cheating, Crying, Death, Death doesn't understand emotion, Death doesn't understand personal space, Death learns to feel, Denial of Feelings, Depression, Determination, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, F/M, Fainting, Fake Love, Fan theories, Fighting, First Kiss, First Love, Flirting, Flowers, Forbidden Love, Forced Relationship, Geno is Tsundere, Geno is stubborn, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Hallucinations, Healing, Heartbreak, Hugs, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Immortality, Insanity, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Jealousy, Language of Flowers, Love Confessions, Love Triangles, Love at First Sight, Love/Hate, M/M, Mental Instability, Near Death Experiences, No Smut, Non-Consensual Kissing, Non-Consensual Touching, Obligation, One-Sided Attraction, One-Sided Soriel, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pain, Platonic Soriel, Sans can speak wingdings, Sans understands wingdings, Self-Hatred, Self-cest, Slow Romance, Some Fluff, Soulmates, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Touch-Starved, Unrequited Love, Updates Sporadically, it sounds worse than it is, learning to love, light gore, lying, romantic betrayal, unhappy relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2018-11-16 17:49:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 13,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11257863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustYourAveragePerson/pseuds/JustYourAveragePerson
Summary: "We both know it's true. So when will you say it?""Say what?""Say you love me.""Never.""You will one day. One day, you'll say it and you'll mean it. I'll be waiting for that day.""You'll wait forever, then.""If I have to, I will. For you."





	1. A Fateful Meeting

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Again and Again](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10610520) by [FaeMytho](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaeMytho/pseuds/FaeMytho). 



> Hope you enjoy this angst-ridden fic.  
> Told from Death's POV, mainly. Kind of an introspection on him? Maybe? Idk.  
> Anywho. Enjoy.  
> (Canon divergence up the wazoo. This is not necessarily accurate to Reapertale or Aftertale's canon stories, and i do not claim to own either.)

As the god of death and a reaper to boot, Death had never truly known what it was to love. 

He had his brother, yes. But whatever existed between them was not love. It was more an understanding. He wasn't even sure why he referred to Papyrus as his brother, seeing as they had no father or mother to create them. They simply were. There was no link between the two, no bond to hold them together and no push to hold them apart. Perhaps Papyrus had begun calling him brother and that was where it started. His memory no longer held that particular information. And in his opinion, it didn't matter. 

He had Toriel. But the idea of truly loving her was laughable. She was the goddess of Life and he, the god of Death. They were meant to oppose each other. She created and nurtured, he destroyed her creations. She was warmth and light, he was the cold shadow lurking behind. True, in recent years they'd worked out their differences, even becoming somewhat friends. More than that, maybe. Or at least, it seemed Toriel felt that way for him, though he didn't see why. 

He found little interest in such thoughts, anyway. He'd grown used to the emptiness inside him. He hardly noticed it nowadays... Death went on as always, reaping the souls of those who died, and rarely did he think about the fact that he felt like a piece of him was missing. It was only when a lull in his work occurred, when he found himself alone and unoccupied did he allow himself to think of it. To wonder why he felt incomplete. 

Perhaps it was simply part of the job. He was a reaper, after all. His job was a dreary and at times painful one, lacking in any form of joy or likeability and leaving no room for care or kindness. All too often he'd been called soulless, heartless, cold, unfeeling... Cursed, because he was the end result, now and forever. Perhaps those who said such were right. He was no more alive than those he reaped. A being of immense power, appearing alive; yet no soul beat behind his ribs, no needed breath passed his teeth, and no warmth could be found in his touch. Ever living yet never alive, immortal but less than a mortal would ever be. That was him, as it had always been. And as it would always be, so he thought.

Be it fate, or chance, or some power higher than his own, it so happened that Death would one day find a certain mortal. A monster who he had never seen nor heard of, who should've been nothing more than another task to be taken care of. Another soul to whisk away to the afterlife. Yet somehow, this monster was more. For the first time, Death felt whole. For the first time, Death felt warm. He felt, instead of numbness and emptiness, a desire. A longing. Dare he say it... he felt love.

For someone he could never be with.

 

* * *

 

The first time they met was in the shadows of a great hall. 

Death had felt the call of a dying soul. Standard procedure, he thought. And he made his way there, expecting it to be normal. To be another simple job. Take the soul and go. In and out, no time at all, something he'd done countless times. 

Yet when he crouched beside the bloodied body of a skeleton, he paused. What almost felt like a flicker of pity sparked somewhere in that empty space inside him. Death often felt that little spark. Pitying those who died before most would say they should have. And behind it, a silent jealousy of their ability to die. To move on from life and find a new place. Or even just find eternal peace. He shook his head, clearing such thoughts from his mind. He had work to do. It was not proper to dawdle like this.

Death raised his hand to touch the other, a touch that would ease him into death and allow Death to reap his soul. To send him on. But the skeleton gasped, a sudden intake of air that startled the reaper. And the reaper watched as the skeleton opened his eyes and moved, struggling to stand. Still bleeding, still dying, but determined to move on. Death backed away, empty eye sockets narrowed in confusion. This monster should be dead. He should be falling to dust, crumbling away to nothing while Death walked away with his soul. 

Yet there he stands, swaying in place. And just as suddenly as he appeared to return to life, he is gone. Disappeared. Death stands alone in the hall filled with golden light, a light that carries no warmth to him. And soon he too leaves, wondering about the skeleton who refused to die.

 

* * *

 

It is a long time before they meet again.

As he always does, Death travels, going from place to place to collect the souls of those passed. From the sterile rooms of a hospital to muddy back alleys, from battlefields to bedrooms, he goes everywhere. Sending the dying to their rest, whispering promises of peace and calm to the fearful. Catching sight of tears and desperation as loved ones gather around the body, clutching it as though to keep them there. As though their presence can block his hands from lifting away what made the person themself, stealing away the one they cared for so much. And he pities them for thinking so. Because there is nothing they can do, and any words he might try to give would be meaningless to those grieving souls. 

The job wears him down but he does it anyway. There is no one else who could truly take his place. And so he moves on. He collects the souls. And he mourns for them right alongside those who knew the dead.

Rarely does he think of the skeleton he met in the hall of gold. In his work, it is so rare for any being to come so close to meeting him and yet slip away that he finds relief in the thought. It is one less soul he must take, and he feels a certain gladness when he is refused. But sometimes, this chance meeting nags at him, most often when he pauses to rest in the dim realm he calls home. He wonders about it, how a monster so close to death could possibly avoid him. How they even found the strength to force themself on. And where the monster had gone - he wondered that too. Yet his curiosity never seemed enough to warrant investigating or seeking out this strange occurrence. 

So he does his job. And in quiet moments, the memory of the skeleton flickers softly. Fixed in his mind, like many other, but this one seems special. Different. 

He just can't figure out why.


	2. Burning the Bridge Behind Yourself

The second time they met was in a place surrounded by utter darkness.

Fitting, Death thinks when he appears in velvety blackness. An empty place, lacking warmth. Just as he does. Somewhere in the distance, he sees what seems to be a speck of light. A faint glimmer in the void-like space. So he approaches it, his cloak whispering along the presumed ground of this odd place. 

When he reaches the light he blinks, pausing. A circle of grass, perhaps ten feet in diameter, dotted with a few golden flowers and bathed in a strange yellow light. The reaper stays back, out of sight, for he is not alone. A skeleton sits with his back to Death, plucking at the thin blades of grass. He is different, near colorless and half-covered in what appears to be glitching, but Death recognizes him. How could he not, when it was this same skeleton that haunted his thoughts?

He shifts in place, unsure whether to speak or leave, when he notices something. Something off, something he's seen very few times but knows almost instantly.

The skeleton doesn't have a timer.

Ordinarily, Death could 'read' a being's soul and know how much time they had left until they were supposed to meet him. In most cases it read the time of their natural death, but accidents happen. Death had seen beings with years and years left on their timer, yet found himself taking their souls because something had gone wrong. But this... this was incredibly rare, for a normal being to lack a timer. He didn't have one himself, but seeing as he couldn't die, it made sense. No god or goddess possessed a timer. But this monster was not a god. He was mortal. Or had been. Death found himself wondering if this skeleton could even die, seeing as he no longer appeared to be mortal.

Something seems to alert the skeleton and he stands. Turns around to see who might be behind him. And then he stops; he stares in confusion.

"What...?"

Death makes no response, not at first. He casts his gaze slowly over the skeleton, working his way down from the hidden eye to the mouth that slowly drips blood, past the bright red scarf, down to the surely fatal wound across the chest, down to the bloodstained slippers. He looks up and sees the other still staring, still confused, even though he wouldn't see anything but the faintest outline of the reaper.  

"Who... are you?" The skeleton asks, stepping a little closer and squinting. 

Death tilts his head a bit. "Do you not recognize me?" He was sure the other must have seen him when they met before. Even if he had not... 

"I- You were there. In the Hall, weren't you? But... I thought I was just seeing things. You're not real... right?"

"Real..." Against his will, he laughs softly. "I assure you I am real. Our meeting, though uncommon, was real as well."

"Uncommon." The skeleton frowns. "Why was it uncommon? Who the hell are you?"

The reaper smiles a little, though the expression is empty of any true amusement or joy. He steps forward, pushing his hood back enough for his face to be visible. 

"I am Death," he answered softly, giving a short bow. "Most beings who meet me are on their last breath. You were as well. Yet you escaped me. Something gave you the strength to." He straightens up, watching as the light in the other's eye shrinks and he backs away. 

"That's impossible. Death isn't a person."

A hint of amusement crosses his face as he replies, "I assure you, he is."

The skeleton considers; Death almost thinks he's stalling for time. "If... if you are Death... you're here to kill me, aren't you?"

"Ah, the golden question," he hums, shifting in place. "That depends."

"On what?!"

"Do you wish to die?"

The skeleton pauses. He looks... shocked. "Isn't it your job to kill me?"

"I suppose it is. However... you have become a rather unique case. You should have died in that hall, yet you survived and still appear to be living. Ordinarily, I would be able to read, as it were, how long it is until your death, yet I cannot. Therefore, the responsibility of claiming your soul is no longer mine."

"That doesn't make sense."

"And this world does?"

Silence greets his remark and the flicker of amusement crosses Death's face once more. It fades when he hears the other's next words.

"Do it anyway."

"Excuse me?"

"Do it. Take my soul, or kill me, whatever it is you do. I'm supposed to be dead. So do it."

Death hesitates. A whisper echoes in his mind.  _Don't._  

"...If you wish." 

He steps forwards and the skeleton looks up at him, probably searching for some emotion in the empty eye sockets he sees. But there is nothing there, save for a sort of tired acceptance. 

"...Will it hurt?" A childish question, perhaps, but he does not blame the other for asking. 

"No," he murmurs in reply, raising a hand. "It will not."

His hand makes contact with the other's skull and he expects the skeleton to crumble. To fall and burst into dust, leaving behind a soul that Death would then scoop up. But that doesn't happen. The skeleton is still there... and Death feels a wave of  _emotion_. Emotion that isn't his, but the skeleton's. Pain and fear and loss, but also joy and love. Things he once knew, memories of happiness. Death recognizes this; at times he becomes curious and explores a soul's memories. Watching their life. Now he sees the skeleton's. The intensity of it all is almost overwhelming to the reaper, and he draws away as though burned by the contact. 

He stares at the other with wide sockets, uncertainty filling him. He now has a name to put to this strange being. Geno. And a strong sense of pity accompanies the uncertainty, for he now knows just what has happened to the skeleton.

"What... what happened, why am I not dead?" Geno looks upset, and Death does not blame him.

"I... I am afraid I do not know. It appears that I am unable to..." Kill him. Reap his soul. Pretend that this monster is anything close to normal. "Do as you asked."

"What do you mean, you're unable to?! You're Death! Death  _itself_!"

"Yes, I am aware," he mumbles, looking away. "But there are beings even my touch cannot affect. You are one, or so it would seem."

"...Leave."

"Pardon?" He looks up, a hint of confusion apparent in his features.

"If you can't kill me, leave." Geno turns his back to the reaper, arms crossed. "There's no point in you being here. So leave."

Death pauses. He hesitates. A part of him wants to stay. The part closest to that which always felt empty but somehow doesn't in the presence of this monster. The part holding onto the emotion and memories he received from Geno. But he backs away and bows his head, and he finds himself speaking words he doesn't want to.

"As you wish." And he leaves Geno alone in the strange void with the little circle of grass.

 

* * *

 

For the first time Death finds himself going to Life for answers. Surely she would know what this was, this strange occurrence and the unfamiliar feelings. She had to, right?

As usual, he found her in the glade near her home, tending to the flowers that grew unchecked. She doesn't notice his near silent appearance, and he smiles a little.

"My lady." It is only then that she looks up to see his kneeling form, head bowed respectfully. 

"Sans." A flicker of unease runs through him at the name he abandoned long ago, but he says nothing. "How nice to see you. What brings you to visit me today?" 

He notes the warmth in her tone, and when he rises and looks up it matches the melted chocolate of her eyes. "A soul, Lady Toriel. I was hoping perhaps you could lend some insight on h- its nature." 

She looks slightly confused by the answer. "A soul?"

"Yes. You see, I met this soul once before. It escaped me, somehow, and I chose to let it live. And when I met it again, I was unable to reap it. I don't suppose you would know how this happened?" 

"I am... unsure," she replied carefully. "Did you notice anything else different about this soul?"

"Yes, my lady. It lacked a timer."

"Oh my." He picks up on the startled note to her voice and tilts his head. 

"What is it?"

She pauses before answering. "I believe the soul you speak of may be Lost. It is rare for such to exist..."

He hums in acknowledgment, waiting for more information. 

"A Lost Soul is often tied to a certain place due to... unfinished business. Provided they stay in that place and do not accomplish what they set out to do, they will live on, even in defiance of- well, you." 

"Interesting..." 

Toriel gives him an odd look. "There is something else, is there not?"

Death blinks, confused. "What do you mean?" 

"You seem... different. I've never seen you so interested in the fate of a single soul."

"Simple curiosity," he spoke softly, looking away. Absentmindedly he flexes the hand that touched Geno. 

"Are you sure? It seems you feel more for this soul. Perhaps more than is proper for your position."

Death let a chill creep into his voice as he retorted, "Nonsense. I feel nothing for him."

Toriel notices the switch from 'it' to 'him'. He knows she does; she wouldn't have that look on her face if she didn't.

"Sans..." She frowns. "You have feelings for this soul, don't you?"

He doesn't answer.

"You know you are forbidden from forming attachments to a mortal soul. And that one day, even with the circumstances, you will have to reap that soul."

"I am aware." 

"Then you know what you must do."

It is with reluctance that he replies, "I do." He can't stand the pitying look she gives him and he turns, prepared to leave. "Thank you, Lady Toriel."

"You are welcome, Sans. Farewell."

"Farewell." He disappears and she is left alone with the flowers, gazing where Death stood before with a look of sorrow.

 

* * *

 

For some reason he can't explain, he doesn't want to see Geno go. He doesn't want to have to reap that particular soul.

He doesn't want to lose the only person that made him truly feel something.

So he stays far away from the strange void where Geno resides. Perhaps he hopes that if he doesn't return for a while, he'll forget the skeleton. Or perhaps that Geno won't find out what it would take to die. It's difficult, he finds, to keep his resolve, especially when his mind replays the meeting over and over. Remembering the warmth felt in the other's presence, so different from the normal chill of numbness. 

Eventually, though, his curiosity would be too much, his desire to see the skeleton again overwhelming. 

He doesn't realize that when he returns, he will be starting something he won't be able to walk away from.

Something that will change him forever. 


	3. The Beginning of Something New

The third time they met was again in darkness... yet something else seemed present there too.

"Why are you here again?"

"That's rather rude," Death chuckles as he notes the irritation on Geno's face, and the way he steps back from the edge of the circle of grass. 

The skeleton huffs, turning away. "What do you want, Death?"

"Who said I wanted anything?"

"Why else would you be here?" Geno cries exasperatedly, turning back to face the grinning reaper. "So just spit it out already."

"Perhaps I simply wanted to see you. You do hold some interest to me, after all." He moves a little closer, but stops short of the circle of grass. It would surely wilt at his touch, and he sees no point in killing the tiny plant life. "Perhaps it was simple curiosity." He shrugs a bit.

Geno frowns. He clearly doesn't believe Death. "I'm supposed to believe that?"

"Why should you not?"

"I dunno, maybe because you're  _Death_? Not exactly the kind of... _thing_ I want near me."

Death tilts his head slightly, as though confused. "I assure you, I am not nearly as bad as I am made out to be."

"Yeah. Sure you're not. And I'm perfectly normal."

"Are you always this bitter?" Death asks with, of all things, a smirk beginning to play upon his face. "Or have you granted me the honor of your sarcastic responses and attempts to - what is it called? - hurt my feelings?"

Geno's cheekbones tint pink and the smirk on Death's face widens, causing the former to scowl while the latter tries not to laugh.

"As if I would do anything like that for you," The skeleton grumbles, looking away, only to glare back at the reaper and snap "Shut up!" when he hears him chuckling.

"And if I don't?"

That remark silences Geno for a moment as he appears to think. He simply sighs and does nothing. "Are you always this annoying?"

"Perhaps."

The skeleton groans and walks to the opposite side of the circle of grass, sitting down there with his back to the reaper. Maybe he's hoping that if he ignores Death, Death will just leave. That plan backfires, as Death simply glides over to the other side as well and seats himself opposite the skeleton, just out of reach.

"Are you just going to follow me around like this now? Do you really not have anything better to do?"

"Not really."

Geno sighs and looks down, picking at the grass beside him. "Why me?"

"Pardon?"

"You could bother anyone in the world. Why specifically me?"

"I believe I told you already," Death answers with his head tilted slightly. 

"Oh yeah. I'm 'interesting'. What does that even mean?"

"Well, there's this," he replies as he leans forward and briefly rests his hand against Geno's knee. "And that," he continues as he moves back just before the skeleton would have slapped his hand away, pointing to the floating glitch that covers the other's eye. "I'm curious as to what exactly happened to you that caused all of this."

"Wouldn't you know already?"

Death chuckles a bit. "I'm not all-knowing."

Geno huffs. Stays quiet for a bit. Then reluctantly begins to speak. "Determination."

Death tilts his head slightly, confused.

"Determination is what's keeping me alive. Everyone has Determination, it's what keeps someone alive normally, but... there are ways to get more. I injected some into my soul. That's why I didn't really die, or at least I think that's why. As for this..." He raised a hand over the glitching, then hesitated. 

"I assume you're hiding some form of disfigurement, likely resulting from your ah, experiences?"

"You could say that."

"May I see it?"

"...What?"

"You've peaked my interests. So. May I see it?"

"It's bad."

"I've seen worse."

Geno opens his mouth as though to argue, then stops. If this weirdo really  _is_ Death itself, then he's right. He's definitely seen worse than what happened to Geno. "...Fine." He waves his hand over the floating particles and they dissipate, revealing the melting skull underneath.

Death doesn't seem bothered, not even a little. He merely hums in interest, studying the melt as though it were an intriguing piece of art. 

"...You done yet?" Geno questions, after a few more silent moments go by. Death's gaze was starting to make him uncomfortable. It didn't help that with no light present in the other's sockets, the reaper could be looking virtually anywhere and Geno wouldn't have the slightest clue. 

"Yes. Thank you." He gives an odd smile as he watches Geno reform the particles, and needless to say the skeleton was a little unsettled. "Why do you hide it, though? No one else resides here, and you have no way of seeing yourself."

"I..." There's no response for several moments. "I dunno. It just... feels weird without keeping it covered."

"Fair enough."

 "Why are you asking so many questions, anyways? And don't give me that 'I'm curious' bullshit. Why do you even care? If you really  _are_ Death, you've got to have better things to do than waste your time with a glitch like me."

"Why do you care so much if I'm interested?"

The clear deflection of the question doesn't seem to sit well with Geno. "Because it's weird and frankly, there's not much to be interested about."

"On the contrary, I think there is."

The skeleton growls quietly. "There. Is. Not." 

"Why are you so defensive?"

"Why are  _you_ so nosy?" 

"This conversation has become increasingly circular," the reaper notes, shifting and standing in a fluid motion. "Perhaps you'll be more inclined to talk later."

Geno scoffs, glaring up at the other. "Yeah. Sure. And maybe later half my face won't be melting off."

Death noted the sarcasm with an amused sound, and vanished, leaving Geno alone.

 

* * *

  

He doesn't come back for days. 

Geno tries to convince himself, as the days go on, that he doesn't need to have that weirdo around. That he's fine alone. 

The days turn to weeks. He meets another person - his old self. He tries to convince the other Sans to help him finish what he started and, when that fails, to kill him. 

Again, he fails. And again, he's alone. The silence is overpowering, and it gets to the point he'd even be glad to have Death there, if for no other purpose than to know that there is still a world out there, even if he can't be part of it anymore. He's sick of being alone. 

So, though he won't admit it, when the reaper finally returns with a wide smirk and a "Miss me?"...

Geno had missed him.


	4. An Uneasy Peace

"You cannot be serious!"

"I promise, it happened!" 

The two's laughter rang out in the voidlike space. Though it had taken a lot of convincing, and many days spent all but begging for attention, Geno had finally caved in to Death's requests and befriended the reaper. Death came as often as he could, and with him there the save screen seemed a lot less lonely. Less empty. 

Right now, the two were sitting in their usual spots (Geno in the grass, Death just outside its circle), swapping stories; seeing who could remember the most ridiculous thing they had ever seen. Geno fondly recalling various hijinks his brother and Undyne had gotten up to, Death telling tales of people who had died in morbidly hilarious ways. Geno hadn't laughed this hard in ages. Death had this way of keeping his face and tone serious until he'd finished a story, and Geno did his best not to laugh until then. He shouldn't be, death wasn't something to joke about, but he supposed his sense of humor had grown rather morbid in the face of everything.

Even with their apparent peace, it didn't mean everything was peachy between the two. There were days the reaper would arrive and be ignored, or lashed out at. There were days he took his teasing a little too far. There had been times they'd ended up screaming at each other until Death would leave, and silence would reign until he would return a few days later. There was never an apology, not verbally anyways. As harmless as he seemed, Geno didn't quite trust the reaper - but perhaps that was understandable, considering what he'd experienced in the past. 

Death, for his part, did what he could to avoid being a malicious presence. He kept his hands to himself, and he did at least try to understand what the boundaries were when it came to what he could say. Yet, he didn't  _truly_ understand it all. Lacking the ability to experience most emotion himself, not through other beings, he couldn't understand the pain Geno went through. He could not truly understand what made Geno lash out even if Death hadn't necessarily done anything. He couldn't understand why he'd appear and find Geno curled up sobbing uncontrollably, why he screamed at the reaper as though he wanted nothing more than to watch him crumble to dust, why the glitchy skeleton would even try attacking him at times. He always dodged the attacks, not wanting to go through the trouble it would take to heal himself, and would leave before the other could keep up his attacks. Had he understood, he probably would have done things differently.

"I should go," he finally spoke up, moving to rise from where he sat. 

"Already?" Though the concept of time was a vague one here, he hadn't spent as long as he usually did with Geno and he knew it. He saw some flicker of emotion in Geno's eye - disappointment? - before he settled back and his expression became unreadable. 

"Yes. T- Life wanted to talk to me, apparently? I suppose I should see what she wants." Death had become accustomed to referring to the goddess by her name rather than title, but... Geno had flinched so badly the first time Death mentioned Life that he made an effort to never speak her name around the skeleton. 

"Alright..." Death could've sworn there was a hint of jealousy in the other's voice, but that must've been his imagination. Geno knew Life and Death were close (as odd as that might appear) but he had no reason to be jealous... did he? Maybe it was because their friendship meant Death spent less time with Geno. Yes, that sounded right. Geno was all alone here, as Death was the only one who seemed able to access the void-like space. "Bye, then."

"Farewell."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is really short, I know, especially with how long it took to update. I'm sorry.   
> However, I already have the next chapter planned and I'm going to get it out ASAP so,, please try to be patient with me ^^;


	5. Abandoned

Geno was alone again. 

Just his luck, he supposed, as the days went by and Death didn't show up, not even once to say hello or explain why he'd wasn't around anymore.

And then he wondered why he cared. Death was not something he wanted around. He didn't want the reaper near him, close enough they could've touched had they just reached out. Reminding him of the people he'd lost, knowing that Death had probably seen them, taken their soul, passed them on until the world reset and the process restarted. The reaper had never once shown remorse for what he did, he didn't care. He didn't understand, couldn't possibly understand, what it felt like to go through the resets and the pain and the killing over and over and over until his soul numbed and everything he did was empty. He couldn't possibly understand how it felt to be trapped like this, knowing his world was so close but unable to return to it, helpless to change the fate of his friends, his family. He couldn't possibly understand the anger and the guilt and the want, the  _longing_ for it all to end already. For the cycle to stop, one way or another. 

Letting the reaper stay, letting him talk and joke, it was a mistake. Geno realized that now, sitting in the silence of the save screen. He should've forced Death to leave, told him he wasn't welcome. Letting him stay was a bad idea from the start, but... he guessed he'd been so lonely and desperate he welcomed even Death, just to know that there was something more than this dark space. 

But now he knew there was a way into the save screen from his world. The appearance of his old self had confirmed that, especially when it happened again... and then again. Try as he might, Geno couldn't seem to get out... though he didn't try too hard. He just had a bad feeling about leaving this voidlike space, something that told him it wasn't a good idea. 

Thus began a cycle that rapidly became as dull and numbed as the one he'd been in before, and he began to wonder if this was his fate for all eternity. If this was his own personal Hell. Living in a cycle that never ended, and even when he thought he got out he'd be in another loop and another and another. 

The silence got louder each time he failed. He started talking to the darkness. He wasn't crazy, he thought at least a dozen times a day. Talking to yourself was not a sign of madness. He just needed something to distract him, because with Death gone he had no one to talk to in the long and lonely hours between each new Sans, each reset, each drop of the stomach at knowing it was happening again. And the silence weighed on him, it crawled up his spine and sent chills through his marrow; it was worse than the silence he heard every time the kid killed them all. At least then he knew they could be brought back and the silence would break, at least for a little bit.

Now there was no guarantee. The constants he'd relied on in life - his brother, his friends, the easy and predictable life of Snowdin - those were all gone now. In this void, the constant he'd relied on - Death - he was gone too. Even seeing a Sans wasn't a guarantee any more; sometimes a run would go by, or two, or more, and he'd see no one. Just feel the sudden sensation somewhere inside him that it happened again, the death and the destruction. 

Maybe he _was_ going crazy, he mused to himself once, lying listlessly on the little patch of grass that, like him, lived even though it should be dead. Maybe he'd hallucinated Death, and the other Sanses. Maybe none of this was real, just some long and twisted dream, or a last vision before he died. Maybe he was actually dead and this was the afterlife. Or maybe it was all real and he was supposed to do something. But what could he do? He was worse than useless here and he couldn't go back. And he couldn't die here either. Death  _himself_ couldn't take his soul - what was left of it, at least. 

The days wore on, the runs looped and the resets came over and over and over. But oddly, among it all, Geno felt... something. Not hope. His hope was long dead and buried. No, what he felt was a burning intensity, a desire, so strong it cleared away the haze in his mind, if only for a moment. He felt...  _determined._ He hated this situation, he knew it was near hopeless, but... someone had to end the violence. If he could no longer do it, he'd find a replacement. Someone he could convince, but slowly. He'd seen how the kid manipulated people into thinking what they wanted, only to turn and back stab them. 

Well, if the kid wanted to play dirty, he would too. 

He spent the long hours planning, no longer focusing on his misery, ignoring the part of him that had given up. No longer would he let his friends be slaughtered like livestock for some sick kid's amusement. No longer would he let his brother feel the pain of death and betrayal. The human's reign of terror was going to end once and for all, and if he had to drag himself and the entire damn universe down with them, he'd do it. 

He had a score to settle longer than his tab at Grillby's, and he was going to make sure the kid paid in full.


	6. Complications and Roadblocks

Death knew he was in trouble the second he stepped into the void.

After so many years, he'd learned to read people - in the most basic sense, at least. He could look at someone and usually be able to tell if they were happy or sad, hiding something, regretful, angry. He'd learned how certain parts of the body could give away emotion, how people had tells sometimes, how posture could tie in. What he'd never learned was all the subtleties of emotion, and why people reacted differently to the same thing, and what exactly in one person's actions made another feel anything from hatred to love, jealousy, or happiness. 

He also recognized that enough emotion could put out an aura of sorts. He'd seen and felt it before. The tension thicker than molasses around a hospital bed, the burning chaos at an accident, the damp misery of a funeral. 

When he stepped into the void after that long time he'd spent distancing himself from the glitched skeleton that lived within it, he felt the space fill with a sense of danger. And he felt a twinge of fear. Of uncertainty. Maybe even of dread. Whatever it was, it was bitter and heavy, and in the split second before he was noticed he wondered if he'd be able to leave undetected. 

Then it was too late, he’d been seen. Death expected anger. A snapped remark, maybe a question of where he’d been all this time. Yelling, even.

He wasn’t expecting a look empty of emotion, of care, of any hint that he might’ve ever been here and made an impression. He wasn’t expecting to be looked through like he didn’t exist. For some reason, this lack of response worried him - scared him, even - more than anger. Anger, he could handle. Nothingness....

“Death.”

He tensed when he was addressed, unsure, unprepared. That emotionless gaze was a lie. Geno was angry. But he wasn’t angry the way he’d been angry before. No, this was something different entirely. Something... desperate, bordering on the edge of madness. What exactly had happened while he was away, he dared not ask.

“What do you want?”

The question stung. He thought... the reaper didn’t know what he thought except that he didn’t expect this.

“You made it quite clear you weren’t coming back. So why are you here?”

“It was not...” a twinge of guilt stirred inside him. “Those were not my intentions. I apologize.” He bowed his head a bit in remorse, unsure how to explain.

“Mhm. Sure.” The sarcasm rolled off Geno’s words like some dark syrup, thick and heavy and hiding something. “Well, you can take your ‘intentions’ and leave. You’re not wanted here.”

He holds his hands out slightly in supplication. “Geno...”

The skeleton narrows his eyes. “I’m warning you.”

“Please, just-”

“This is your last chance...”

“Let me expl-”

Geno moves so quickly the reaper doesn’t even see it, just feels a sudden sting in his cheekbone and checks it to find little spots of royal blue on his fingers. His hood had been yanked down and sported a large rip along the side. It isn’t difficult to figure out what happened, and he moves in time to see another bone zip past him.

Geno stands tense, a look of utter hatred burning in his swirling red and blue eye. But he smiles, and it chills Death to his very core, for that smile is not one of any sane being. It is the smile of a madman, and that frightens him more than he cares to admit.

“I warned you,” the skeleton says, and raises his hand. Bones spike out of the ground in a wave, and the reaper barely avoids them, throwing himself into the air and hovering just above the wall of attacks.

It seems not so much a fight as a deadly dance, Geno summoning one attack after another and Death doing what he can to dodge and block with his scythe now held firmly in both hands. It was by no means an easy feat. Geno had had hundreds of Resets of practice fighting and his instability only made it more difficult to predict what he would do, whereas Death had fallen out of practice in the years elapsed since his truce with Life.

He doesn’t attack, unwilling or perhaps afraid to, and it proves to be his downfall. Geno, with nothing to slow him down, upped the ante, and within a few attacks had scored another hit on Death. And then another. The god’s blue blood stained his hands and face, but he didn’t seem slowed by the wounds, continuing to dodge most of the attacks.

And then Geno summons a Gaster Blaster and Death doesn’t have time to move before it goes off, blasting him backwards onto the ground, his scythe skidding away into the dark. He stirs faintly, smoke curling off his robes, and the glitchy skeleton slowly walks over, smirking now.

He doesn’t speak, just stares down at the reaper with his eye burning, and lifts his hand. Bones shoot up from the floor and go through the god with a horrible sound, becoming stained with his blood as they break through his ribs and skull.

Geno lowers his hand, and the bones dissipate, Death’s broken body lying completely still now. Trails of blue stain his skull, dripping into the gaping holes left from Geno’s attack, soaking into his ripped clothing, and the smirk disappears from the glitchy skeleton’s face. He takes a few steps back, expecting the reaper’s body to turn to dust. Expecting him to disappear.

But he doesn’t.

And he still doesn’t.

Minutes go by and the body is still there, too damaged to possibly allow survival, but somehow still holding together. And then it stirs, and Death coughs quietly, teeth stained with the blue blood that springs forth.

“You can’t... kill... Death,” he speaks up weakly, slowly sitting up. He’s clearly in pain, but undoubtedly alive, getting to his feet. He’s shaking and swaying so badly it’s amazing he even manages to stay upright.

Geno backs away, eye widening, looking afraid now. He tenses and waits, expecting a blow. Expecting _anything_. Death raises an arm and he flinches, squeezing his eye shut...

And nothing happens.

Just silence.

He hesitantly opens his eyes, not knowing what to expect. Death is gone, as is his scythe. The void is empty again... There’s nothing left to show the reaper was even there, that a fight took place, except for the tiny puddles of blood and a few shattered bits of bone from Geno’s attacks.

Rather than try to face the mass of dark emotion writhing in his chest, he turns away from the evidence, tries to convince himself that _it doesn’t matter_ , that it’s not there.

That the little bit of guilt he feels doesn’t exist.

That what he did was justified.

That the feeling that maybe he overreacted, maybe he should’ve given the reaper a chance to explain, that maybe there _was_ a good reason he’d been gone for so long, were all wrong.

He tries.

He’s not sure it works.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am incredibly sorry it took so long to get this chapter done. I've been having a lot of trouble being motivated to write for any of my fanfictions lately, along with being busy with school and stuff. Hopefully, I can get back in the swing of things soon, and get the next chapter out faster. Again, I'm sorry, and thank you guys so much for being patient!!


	7. A Matter of Life and Death

There is a certain kind of quiet tranquility in the garden of Life.

Golden flowers spread unchecked, thriving amid deep green grass. Vines climb the stone walls and mask the grayness, and the whole garden is dappled with sunlight. Small animals rustle in the undergrowth, and birds chirp and call overhead. Even in the shadows, there is beauty in the form of emerald leaves and darker flowers.

Death does not belong here. 

Normally, he would hover above the grass, separating himself from what he so obviously should not touch. Now, he doesn’t have the strength.

The second he appears in the garden he collapses, falling to his hands and knees. Watching in silence as the grass rapidly browns and shrivels, dying under his touch, drops of blue staining the dry blades. 

Then his arms give out and he find himself on the ground, hearing the grass crackle under his broken body. All around him, the life bleeds out of the earth, and there is a certain reassurance in the familiarity of it. But there is no change to the heavy feeling in his chest. It sits there, demanding to be examined, trying to force him to pay attention to it, but he refuses to do so.

And then he hears footsteps, and a gasp. He knows it’s Toriel, for who else would be here in the garden? Her voice is familiar by now, even when not speaking, and he recognizes it. He doesn’t need to look to confirm what he knows, and even if he wished to he thinks it better to not move. Healing himself takes longer than he’d like already. The less he furthers the damage to his body, the better. 

“Sans- what happened to you?” The goddess asks with concern, and he senses her presence just beside him. She lifts the reaper up, bringing him into a sitting position, and a sound of horror leaves her at the sight of his cracked skull stained with blood. 

“Who did this?” Toriel demands, propping the god up against herself and examining his wounds closely. He feels warmth wash over him, and his bones begin to mend. That’s one worry off his mind, then; Toriel had far stronger healing magic than he did, and now he wouldn’t have to spend hours healing himself when it’d be completed in minutes thanks to her.

“It doesn’t matter,” he replies flatly, closing his eyes. He doesn’t wish to speak about it. Toriel would not approve of him still visiting Geno, nor understand why he hadn’t reaped the glitchy skeleton yet. And he doesn’t want her to pry enough to notice how it affected him and find out about the heavy feeling weighing on him where his soul would be, had he had one.

“It clearly does matter,” she retorts sharply, “given that you’re injured this badly.” 

He does not respond.

“Sans, please. I’m worried about you. You haven’t been yourself lately, and now this? What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing.” The word falls like snow, soft and bitterly cold, and it tastes much the same. “It’s nothing, I...” 

Can he truly say he is “fine”? What does that mean for him? A god of death, feeling as he does, beginning to understand the warmth of living beings, going against everything right and proper for his position? Chasing a fantasy that will surely end in tragedy? Unable to tear himself away from the notion of freedom, of an escape, from this person he should love but doesn’t, and the one he shouldn’t but... Does he love that skeleton? Is that why it felt like a betrayal to be attacked by him? Is that why he feels warm and not so empty when the other is around?

Can he really say he’s fine when he so clearly isn’t?

“I’m fine,” he finally speaks, and the lie sits there, ugly and obvious. “I made a poor decision. It’s nothing to worry about.” 

She doesn’t believe him, but he doesn’t care. Not really. Just like he doesn’t really care for her, not as a lover. Not as she had seemed to wish he would. Not as the way he should care for her. 

Not the way he cares about the skeleton that gave him these wounds. 

Not the way he wants that skeleton to feel about him, even if he’d never consciously admit it.

It doesn't make sense, but then when has any of this made sense? Ever since he’d met Geno, his life had seemed to shift just enough that everything was just a little bit strange, a little bit unfamiliar. What should be right was wrong and what was wrong seemed right. Or if not right, much more appealing than any alternative. Because the alternative was forgetting. The alternative was shutting himself off from something new and exciting, something wonderful yet terrifying. The alternative was denying himself of any possibility that things could be different, that rules had to be followed, that he had to act according to his place in the world. The alternative was being unhappy forever and hiding behind a mask of acceptance and mourning what could have been. 

Is he really so willing to toy with the lives around him? Would he be proving every being that said he was heartless right if he did? Would he really be so selfish as to lead Toriel on, knowing how she felt for him, because he was afraid to give up the safety of what he knew was right?

“Thank you for assisting me,” he mumbles, freeing himself from her touch. He feels unworthy of it, and he is, but that is hardly a concern for him at the moment. 

“You’re welcome,” she replies in a quiet voice that betrays nothing. The goddess’ eyes are unreadable and she folds her hands in her lap, not quite looking at him. She is hurt, he can tell, by his refusal to speak the truth, but he can’t find it in himself to really want to fix this. “Please be careful from now on.”

“I will.” Another lie. He notes with a sort of off humor that lying is already becoming a pattern. Maybe he should try to fix this once he spends some time away from it all. 

Or maybe he just won’t.

Maybe he’ll just let it all fall apart. 

“Farewell, my lady,” he bows slightly, and if nothing else his respect is not faked. The last thing he sees before vanishing from the garden is the goddess sitting in a circle of dead grass, looking after him almost reproachfully.

He can’t see things ending any way but badly, now.

But the possibility of finding a kind of happiness, of having some freedom to choose...

He is drawn to it.

Maybe a mistake. Maybe the worst decision he will ever make.

Or maybe the best.

It remained to be seen. 


	8. Reflections

Death distances himself from the places he knows and is far too familiar for comfort right now. He buries himself in his work. And he tries to distract himself with the memories of the souls that pass through his hands in the hundreds.

He’s seen thousands of lives, but now he notices the detail. Now he notices the darkness in them, the bitterness, the regret. The pain. And he sees the lightness too, more than ever before. He notices the happiness. The love. He knows himself to be so separate from it, surely there’s no chance that something so raw and real and _alive_ could possibly touch him.

Yet he watches memories of love and understands; he recognizes the warmth. He sees moments of unease and finds the same in himself.

A reaper, feeling this emotion, is unheard of. He should be incapable of it. And if not incapable, sorely limited. Had he a soul or heart, whatever it was that would provide life to a being such as himself, it would certainly be racing as he ponders the predicament he has found himself within.

It’s as though he balances atop a razor sharp line and on either side are his choices. On one side is safety, but it is dull. Feigned love, broken promises, and an unhappy ending that would stretch out for eternity. On the other side lies uncertainty, but it is appealing; it draws him towards itself. The chance at finding that missing piece he’s lacked for so long. At filling the empty void inside himself with something alive, something he had never had before but longed to know. Something that maybe once he had thought Life could give him but could not. Her love had never warmed him, it only left him aching for something he could not name. Even now, with this newfound understanding, it still eludes him.

It is only when the work slows and he has nothing to keep him from his thoughts that he is unable to prevent himself from being faced with the choice he must make soon. Does he dare step away from what, for an immeasurable time, was the role he so willingly played? Is what he feels enough to abandon a millennia-old dance and song he can move along with, paying hardly any attention, without having to care?

Can he know for certain that what he chooses is right, that he’s willing to accept whatever consequences might arise?

No. He isn’t ready to choose, he doesn’t feel prepared. He faces something far larger than himself and, quite frankly, it scares him. He didn’t think anything could scare him like this, but it does. How could he have thought of trying to change? What made him think he could, that he of all beings could be so bold as to challenge the very order of the universe?

But then he remembers the rare smile he’d managed to draw forth from Geno and the thrill he’d gotten from seeing it. The dull ache that has been haunting him since he left starts up again, demanding to be acknowledged.

And acknowledge it he does, but he can do nothing yet, and it frustrates him beyond belief. However, he’d learned that Geno could not be interacted with after one of his fits, not for several days. He needed time to calm down.

And it would give time for the reaper to think on exactly how to address this problem; this great mystery he must solve if he ever wishes to have peace of mind again.

 

* * *

 

Geno sits alone, as always.

Is he alone? Or has his isolated little space become home to more than himself?

He doesn’t know. Maybe he really has gone mad this time. Maybe whatever spark made him feel as though he could alter this timeline’s fate was not determination, but madness. Then again...

Does it matter?

Be it madness, determination, or the desperation of a dead monster, whatever fuels him now sets him pacing around endlessly, left alone in the void with thoughts that pile up around him. He swears they’ve become almost tangible in the darkness; little boxes, spheres, ugly messes he doesn’t want to look at but feels increasingly trapped within.

Amongst it all is a tiny seed of something dark and bitter that he dares not look at. That seed resembles something like guilt, and guilt is something he should have long since abandoned if he is to succeed in his plan to fix the timeline that had once been his home.

But it’s not guilt over what he’s done to trick his old self. It’s not guilt over his actions in the timeline. The name rests in his mind - velvety and the color of midnight, just like its owner - sitting there in silence. He speaks it aloud for the first time in... however long it’s been since he last saw him.

“Death.”

He remembers the pain in the reaper’s expression and how he’d almost been surprised to see it. But it hadn’t been physical pain he’d seen, not really- there had been a sadness in Death’s gaze that he couldn’t ignore or forget. A sort of bitterness, but an accepted one.

Unhappy acceptance. The look of someone who had been convinced that what they wanted was far too great for them to achieve, and had given up trying.

Maybe he was wrong about the god. Maybe he should have listened.

But it was far too late for that now, wasn’t it?

A familiar chill tiptoed down his spine and he sighs, knowing that he has to focus. That there’s more important things than what happened with Death. That he doesn’t have the time, right now, to worry about what happened.

All the same, it lingers in his mind as he fixes the sanest smile he can on his face, preparing to meet the person he once was again.

“Heh, feels like I’m lookin’ straight into a mirror.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo, two chapters within a month of each other!  
> This one's a little short and I apologize for that, but I have a plan for next chapter and had to end this one earlier to avoid getting into that plot point. I'll try to get the next chapter written nd posted ASAP, so stay tuned!


	9. Cold As Ice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two updates within four days?? Yes it's true. I was super excited to write this chapter!

_Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick._

He watches the grandfather clock standing proudly against the wall, following the pendulum’s swing counting the seconds away. Just for a moment he watches, no more; he has work to do after all, but sometimes he just needs to hold still and find something small to hold on to for a those precious few instants he can have before he feels the pull of another dying soul. His footsteps make no noise on the wooden floor as he drifts down the hallway, passing dark rooms and closed doors, until he finds the one he’s looking for, muted light spilling across the boards under his feet. When he steps in, neither of the occupants notice.

An old woman lies in the bed, impossibly small amid a sea of bedcovers, and beside her sits an equally elderly man. There is an air of calm in the little room. She seems to be asleep, and he sits in near silence, holding her hand. Stroking it. Whispering to her, reassuring her. The scene stirs something inside him, it saddens him as it always does. It is moments like these that make him wish his job was not needed in the world, though he could never admit to that. But he can’t stand and watch; his job, as always, takes precedence over any reservations he might have about reaping this woman’s soul.

She doesn’t stir as the reaper approaches her bed, and the man he guesses is her husband looks up for just a moment, looks through him, and returns his gaze to her. It is with reluctance that he reaches down and gently passes a hand over the passive face, draws her soul away, cradling the small thing in his hands and gazing down at it. The woman stops breathing.

The man removes his glasses for a moment, wipes his eyes, looks up. For a second, Death almost thinks the man can see him, for his watery eyes lock with the reaper’s empty ones, and in them he sees reflected that deep sadness they both seem to know too well. He’s almost sure the man can see the guilt weighing heavy over him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, frozen in the man’s gaze, unable to look away from that sorrowful face. But then the man bows his head and begins mumbling to himself, and Death tears himself from the scene, the soul cradled in his arms.

Between steps the house vanishes and what surrounds him instead is a dim gray world. His own world. Death finds himself on his knees, holding the soul of the woman in his hands as though it were a ward against the unnamed things he so fears; against the changes he wishes for but fears to make, against the loss of normalcy in his semblance of a life, against the guilt that has built up and runs like poison through his bones.

He turns to her memories, her life’s story, seeking solace in living someone else’s life for just a few moments.

He sees a little girl raised in a small town, in a happy town. He sees her growing up, maturing, meeting a man. A man who loved her but did not receive that love in return. He watches her reject that man and find another, fall in love, grow old, and die. Die happy. Die loved.

The experience has not soothed him. It merely agitates the emotions that he doesn’t know how to deal with, the ones so new and so foreign he has trouble sorting them out and knowing which is which and why he feels them.

What a coward he is! A mere mortal woman had more bravery than he. But then, she had been raised to know love, to chase after desires. He had lived a life of predictable simplicity, devoid of choice, change, or feeling. But even now, when he had begun to discover those things so mysterious to a being like himself, he lacked the audacity to pursue them.

Or did he?

The notion scared him, but he could not put it aside. Not now. If for no other reason than his growing unease, his inability to settle his mind, he would have to face the choice.

He chose uncertainty.

He chose Geno.

He just didn’t know if that choice was the right one.

 

* * *

 

When he steps back into the void, he ignores the chill that slides up his spine, remembering the madman that had replaced the skeleton he thought he knew.

“Hello, again.”

Geno spins around, and a whisper of relief passes through him as the angry mask of before seems to have been discarded. In its place is an uncertainty; he’d almost think there was guilt in the other’s eye if he didn’t remind himself what a fool he’d be to believe that.

“Death.” The glitchy monster regards him with a caution reminiscent of their first meetings. “I didn’t think... you’d be coming back.”

The reaper silently thanks the stars that the anger truly is gone. “Did you believe your actions were enough to prevent me from ever wanting to return?”  

His voice is soft as ever, and the absence of any accusatory tone seems to relax Geno a little.

“Uh- yeah, actually. I kind of did.”

An empty smile meets the remark. “Well. It would appear that was a failure, as evidenced by my presence here.” Almost unconsciously he finds himself drawing closer, spurred on by a voiceless urge.

“Clearly.”

He hasn’t been this close to Geno in a long time, close enough to touch, and he’s sure if he had a heart it would be beating rapidly by now. “Geno... you asked me once what it was I wanted when I visited you. I did not know then, what it was that made you so interesting to me.” Though he doesn’t need it, he takes a breath. It gives him the moment to pause he needs, anyways. “I know now.”

“What... is it, then?” He sees the unease in Geno’s eyes but he doesn’t blame him. How could he?

“I want- I want to know,” he murmurs, and when he brushes a hand against the other’s cheekbone he meets no resistance, “what it is to... to feel. What is it that you feel?”

“What do you mean?” Geno looks up at him, into those blank eye sockets, almost like he’s searching in them for the answer.

“Right now, right here... how- what do you feel?”

“I...” he hesitates, unable to ignore the reaper’s hand resting against the undamaged side of his face; it gives off a chill that sinks into his bones but for once the cold doesn’t even phase him. “I don’t know. Cold-” he pauses, notices his rapid soulbeat, finds his gaze locked into the reaper’s. “Scared, but... not of you. Something else.”

“This?” the taller being leans down just a bit, bringing their faces level. “Is it this that scares you?” His voice lowers and is a mere whisper as he adds, “Or is it this?”

Geno’s eye widens as Death’s face suddenly nears his own and, in absence of lips on either party, their teeth collide. He raises a hand, fully intending to push the reaper away, but he falters and there’s no force behind it when he presses his hand to the other skeleton’s chest.

He isn’t sure when he closes his eyes, only knowing that when he opens them the reaper is gone.

He tries to decide how he felt about the kiss (if he could even call it that), but he can only focus dazedly on how cold the god’s touch was. Cold as ice.

He wonders if he’ll know that touch again. Would he reject it next time?

Or would he welcome it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow I got this chapter done in record time. That being said, I might've missed stupid mistakes somewhere - please let me know if I did, I can't catch everything myself. And absolutely if you've seen errors in previous chapters, let me know! I'd be super thankful for it.  
> Anyways, thanks to you all for reading, commenting, and leaving kudos. Until next update!  
> EDIT: next chapter might be slow, as I'm planning on doing some stuff on my tumblr for Scifell season.


	10. The Art of Deception

Underneath his hands, the scythe wobbles.

He stares down at it, blind to its presence, thoughts and emotions whirling around in a destructive dance.

It’s almost funny how one little action, one step towards the goal he thinks will be what he wants, has so unbalanced him. Or perhaps it simply was the final stroke in a long-waiting list of things working all at once to shift everything and throw him from well-known places into somewhere he can’t quite recognize.

Unfortunately, this place he resides in is still far too well-known, and it brings him no comfort as the misty surroundings seem to draw in a little closer, surrounding his kneeling figure. The scythe he holds slips a little - he’s only holding on by his fingertips now - and it seems so close to falling that he contemplates letting go anyways.

Not that it would make any difference if he did. He was made to do this job, and as unwilling to do it as he became, he could not stop. As much as he hated to rip life from the world, he had no choice. He truly didn’t think he could live with himself, should he drop his scythe and walk away and leave every soul of those who passed to linger on (even assuming the other gods would not force him back into the work). No chance of an afterlife, no opportunity to move on, stuck forever on the plane of mortal life and largely unable to interact. Suffering.

These new feelings, as convincing as they are, would surely damn him to a similar fate should he give himself over to them. So it is with a despairing sigh that he curls his hands around the weapon more securely. Those that found themselves meeting him did not deserve to be made to suffer any longer. Even if he ceased taking their souls, it would only alleviate his own suffering for an instance. How could he justify that?

He regains his composure and rises, gazes out unseeingly over the mist, and squares his shoulders. Hard as it may be, he’s made his choice. And a newfound resolve makes itself known to him, encourages a mind that hesitates and resists this rash but irresistible decision. Maybe he can’t change the order of the universe or his role within it. Maybe it would be pointless to try. But there are things he can change, and those things that maybe are worth chasing. Small as they are, they are worth it.

On the face of it, what he must do is so simple: pursue his interest in these mortal emotions in private, whilst maintaining the appearance of normalcy in the company of the other gods, most specifically Lady Toriel. If she were to discover where his attentions lay, and how his supposed love no longer rested with her... He doesn’t want to think about what might happen and how it might affect the delicate balance he’s trying to preserve.

And yet he is sure it will not be so easy as thought. For when has he ever been an accomplished liar, much less to the one who has known and studied him since his very creation? He tries to reassure himself that he isn’t truly lying. He does _love_ Toriel, just… not as she loves him. Should he not spare her feelings by continuing to claim his devotions lie with her alone, than upset her with his choices?

He shakes his head, swiping the scythe in his hands and ripping through the thin fabric between realities and stepping through. He can’t think on this too long or he’ll begin to doubt himself, like as not. It requires a sort of reckless bravery to do what he plans to do, and it requires him to stop thinking and do something.

Once again he pushes himself to action. He made his choice.

Time to stick to it.

 

* * *

 

Amongst her flowers, Toriel rested in contemplative silence.

How distant her beloved had grown to her! True, he had never shown much warmth, and she understood, for who could expect much showing of kindness or love from a being of death? Yet his actions seemed to verge on indifference now, and his lifeless gaze was always distracted as though some far off conflict reigned over his thoughts.

She finds it easy to trace back where it began. The soul Death had mentioned to her and become so defensive of. But had he not done what he was intended to, and carried it off to the afterlife? Surely he had. Toriel had known Death to only hesitate once in his work… after that first failure, he had become coldly dedicated, allowing not a soul to slip past his notice.

The idea that the reaper could be doubting his role in things was laughably absurd. An immeasurable time, and he never once expressed the slightest hesitation after Them. How could he now be any less sure of himself?

Or had that Lost soul made such an impression on him? She had no way of knowing, for Death would not speak of it, she was sure. Nor could she be sure where this soul resided now, if it were not in the afterlife where it belonged, for Death’s reach was ever-expanding through the multiverse. Nor did she believe he would admit to any wrongdoing, or reveal any more information about this soul.

Death was a private person, and what little he felt he rarely expressed, it seemed. Had she not been sure of its presence, she almost would doubt his love for her was genuine, for it was often that her words of affection went unrequited, if acknowledged at all. He could not have… fallen out of love, surely. She would know if he no longer loved her.

Wouldn’t she?

 

* * *

 

_This had to be wrong._

Geno lay in the grass, eyes closed, bathed in the soft light that somehow existed in this black void he called home. He’d had time to think and there was just no way that this, any of this, could be right.

Not the feelings.

Not the kiss.

Hell, a god shouldn’t have feelings, or at least seem to, for a mortal, right? That was the whole point of them being gods. They were on a different level. And Death... well, he was _literally_ the spirit of death. There was no getting around that. So then...

Why had it felt, just for a moment, with Death’s teeth pressed to his...

Why had it felt so _right_?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am seriously sorry this update took so long, I lost inspiration for a while, but here's a new chapter finally. I'll try to get the next one out faster ^^;


	11. Tick Tock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is so much later than I meant it to be end me

_Tick tock, time’s up._

_Tick tock, the game’s over._

_Tick tock, time to die._

Geno listened to the ticking, sure that the noise was in his head, because there was no way there was anything to make that sound in the void. He didn’t mind it though. He kind of liked it.

_Tick tock, broken clock._

He made a game of it, walking around the patch of grass, timing his steps to the ticking. He imagined little markings around the circle, matched them up to the numbers, and went in circles. 12, 1, 2. Soft crackles under his feet where the grass had browned and died. 6, 7, 8. A flower that burst into tiny flakes when he stepped on it.

They’d be back at some point. The grass always grew back. So did the flowers. Even Death himself couldn’t take life from the void, so it would seem. And for a second, that worried him. If Death couldn’t take him or even the plants, would he be able to take the kid when Geno finally finished what he had started so long ago? Or would Geno’s success be a hollow one?

Killing the kid wouldn’t be enough, he decided. Sure, it might be fun and satisfy his desire for revenge for a little bit. But just killing them wouldn’t end their never-ending Genocide. No. He’d have to prevent them from ever being able to go back, from ever being able to start over. And there was no way he could think to do that except...

_Tick tock, time’s up._

He kept walking.

Imaginary minutes passed.

He stared out into the blackness, unsure if the flickering he saw was just a trick of the light or if his fractured mentality had deteriorated enough to start causing hallucinations. Was that a tall figure he saw staring back at him?

He saw its face. Then it was gone just as fast as it appeared.

_Tick tock._

Geno stepped out of the safety of his little circle of grass, into the consuming darkness. At first, he glanced back to make sure he could still see the light behind him. Then he didn’t care anymore and plunged into the void, trying to find the creature. It had to be real.

He might be crazy but he just _knew_ there was something out there. Watching him. Grinning. It was real and he’d seen it and if he just walked a little further--

He didn’t scream when he fell. Something had tripped him. Something cold and soft had wrapped around his ankle and planted itself in the inky darkness surrounding him.

Something around him was moving. The sound of it was... it was like whispering. It was like a soft, barely audible whisper, circling around his immobile body. And... breathing. Quiet, rasping breathing.

Geno had thought the ability to feel fear had abandoned him. He’d been through so much, even meeting Death face-to-face hadn’t rattled him as badly as he would’ve thought something like that would. But there was something about whoever- _whatever_ was circling around him that sent ice flooding through his body, freezing him into place. He didn’t even dare look around and try to find what it was. He barely breathed.

Whatever this _thing_ was, it was powerful and dangerous. Now he knew how a mouse felt when a cat trapped it but hadn’t killed it yet, just playing with its prey.

The face appeared in front of him, stretched into a deranged grin, and this time he screamed.

And then everything turned black.

_Tick tock._

 

* * *

 

“Geno?”

Light. Too much light. Nothing except light. He couldn’t feel the ground underneath him- did it exist?

“Geno?”

Did he even exist?

“Geno, say something. Please.”

A shadow obscured some of the light, and now he could see just a little. Just the fuzzy outline of something over him.

He tried to speak, but what came out was a vaguely familiar but strange tongue. Dazedly, he murmured over and over the same thing. He swore he heard another voice, not the one of the figure over him, gleefully replying.

“Geno... I can’t-” He heard the closer voice trail off before speaking in the same odd words, and icy fingers brushed against his face. “ _What happened to you?_ ”

“ _Dark... darker... just dark..._ ”

“ _What are you talking about?_ ”

“ _He’s out there._ ”

“ _Who?_ ”

He feels himself be lifted, and a pair of arms around him. A hand on his cheek. It’s so cold.

“ _You’re scaring me._ ”

The other voice cackles.

“ _He’s here,_ ” he mumbled. “ _He’s here._ ”

“ _Who?_ ”

But he can’t answer. The laughing goes on incessantly in the background. He hears the laugher murmur his name. Nothing makes sense.

“ _Beware the man from the other world._ ”

And everything goes black.

_Tick tock._


	12. Disbelief

When he finally rises back to consciousness, the first thing he notices is the feeling of not being alone.

Geno sits up in a panic, eye wide and terrified as he scans his surroundings, sure that that _thing_ would be waiting for him. Sure it would’ve dragged him off into the dark. But then he notices the golden light spilling around him, and the grass under his hands, and his rapid breathing slows a little, his fraction of a soul reducing its speed. He feels safe here.

“You’re awake.” The velvety tones of the voice are familiar and comforting, and he spots a flurry of movement just outside the light’s reach. It reveals itself to be Death, a trace of relief in his expression as he seats himself once more nearby the other skeleton. “That’s good.”

He doesn’t reply. Was the god... worried about him? It would seem so, based off his expression.

“Death, what- what happened?”

The relief turns to concern. “...What do you remember?”

“That... that _thing_ smiling at me, and...” he trails off. That look on Death’s face unnerves him even more. It’s just so blank. “What?”

“Nothing. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

Maybe he’s paranoid but he swears the god is lying. He won’t look at Geno directly. He almost seems fidgety, plucking at the grass and flicking the dried and brittle blades away.

“Are you sure?” He presses, half-hoping that little paranoid voice will be silenced.

“Yes. Of course I am.”

“You don’t sound sure.” As childish as it is, he keeps pressing.

“I- look, Geno, if there _was_ something here, something other than you and I, I’d know of it. I’m certain. Th- People like you are easy to sense, and... only someone _like_ you would be in a place like this.”

“You don’t believe me.”

The reaper seems to tense at the accusatory tone in the glitching skeleton’s voice. “My belief in you is not relevant. It is a matter of fact, whether or not this creature you speak of is residing here alongside you.” His formalities soften for a moment as he looks at Geno. “If it matters, I would like to believe you are speaking the truth.”

“I _am!_ ” Geno finds himself on his feet, hands clenched in fists. “It was here, I know it was. I saw it, it- it _touched_ me. There’s no way it could be just some... hallucination or something!”

“Darling-” The god reaches out, only to flinch as his hand is slapped away, and Geno turns away angrily.

“ _Do not_ call me that. Get out.” He spits the words. “Just get out.”

It is more a feeling than something he knows, but he is sure the reaper lingers just a moment before acquiescing to his demands. But he can practically feel a lasting reproachfulness that slowly gives way to loneliness. How he can miss someone so annoying is beyond him, but there it is.

He hates that he’s grown attached to the reaper. That he cares about him. That he even feels happy and safe, knowing he’s there. Knowing he has someone to talk to in the darkness around him. Knowing he has something to keep him from slipping into insanity.

Geno slowly sinks to his knees, rocking back and plunking down onto the grass and huddling into a small ball. He knows that _creature_ is still out there somewhere, he’s not crazy, he’s not…

“I’m not crazy!” He speaks defiantly to the void and he swears he hear it laugh back at him mockingly. “I’m not crazy, I’m not, I’m NOT, I’M NOT CRAZY-” His voice rises until he screams the words over and over, as if that will make them true. As if that will protect him.

When he finally sinks down into exhaustion, his voice extinguished, he still hears laughing.

 

* * *

 

He feels someone shake him lightly.

He swats tiredly at the offending arm, curling into a tighter ball. “Not yet Paps… five more minutes,” he slurs.

The shaking comes again, a little more insistent, and he groans.

“Fine. Fine. I’m…” his voice trails off as he sees not a skeletal arm and his ill-kept bedroom, but a small sweatered one. Blue and magenta.

Geno shoots up, stumbling back, and the instant his gaze locks on to the small human child in front of him he feels rage swell in his chest. The kid barely has time to raise their arms before they’re enveloped in the shining energy of a Gaster blaster, and he feels a savage satisfaction. It doesn’t last long.

In fact his jaw drops as he sees the kid standing there, unharmed but looking frightened and like they’re about to cry. Tiny glitches flutter around their head, the same that cover his melted and deformed skull, and he slowly begins to relax into wariness over outright anger.

“What the _hell_ -” is all he gets out before the kid runs to him and nearly knocks him over in a hug, sobbing and saying his name over and over. His _old_ name. Who he used to be. And another thing… ‘sorry’. Over and over and over.

Geno stays tense, but he doesn’t move, and eventually he sighs. They aren’t trying to kill him. There is genuine remorse in them.

That’s probably why he eventually rests a hand on their shoulder and gently pries the kid from him with a tired breath.

“I guess we have a lot to talk about, huh kiddo?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and so this piece of trash author finally updated. i... really don't have much excuse. but i'm trying to get back in the swing of things so hopefully i'll start updating more regularly for the next few months.


	13. A Secret Told In Petals

Frisk’s company fills the space where Death once was, and it provides a welcome relief, in a bittersweet way, to have a familiar face around. Though a part of him just can’t trust the kid yet, their explanation that _they_ hadn’t killed anyone and hadn’t wanted to destroy his world is at least somewhat reassuring. Not that he’s sure he believes it- the way Frisk tells it, it’s like they were possessed. And that’s ridiculous, right? But in this world of broken minds, mysterious creatures, and gods of death, maybe the idea isn’t as insane as it sounds.

Either way, it helps to have someone around. It helps to hear a voice other than his own, seldom as it actually makes itself known. With the kid he can almost relax. He can almost laugh. He can almost be the person he used to be. But the shattered bit of soul hiding behind his cracked ribs tells the truth. He’s just a piece of the real Sans, the one still in the world, maybe without a clue of the piece of him missing. How easily he thinks of that monster as a different being when they share a soul… but then, being separated for so long must have its consequences.

He doesn’t seem Him anymore. Not really, not more than a glimpse out of the corners of his vision. The name Gaster floats to mind, and he doesn’t know why it seems familiar but it does. He assigns the name to the being and then tries to forget about it. Sometimes he’ll mention it, say he “saw” the being. But Frisk doesn’t recognize the name either, and they never see Him, so he doesn’t bring it up anymore.

Sometimes he thinks he sees Death, hovering just out of sight, but whenever he turns to look there is no one. This he doesn’t mention to Frisk. He isn’t sure how to feel about the god anymore, and he doesn’t want to try and explain the strange relationship they’d had to the kid. The way Death seemed so fond, so intimate, so willing to be near him. How he’d rejected most of those advances out of instinct, but how he had unconsciously begun to give under them. To let the god in a little, trust him. Maybe even like him a little.

He tries to focus. It’s a little easier now. But there are still times it feels like everything is distorting and he can’t tell what’s real or what’s just his mind playing tricks. Sometimes he still hears laughing in the distance, or the murmured sounds of a half-forgotten tongue.

He tries not to think about anything but what he has to do now.

 

* * *

 

“S- Geno?”

The voice almost startles him for a second, and he looks over, half expecting to see someone else there instead of Frisk.

“Yeah, kiddo?”

In response they just hold up… a bouquet?

That’s what it looks like, and he furrows his brow as he walks over to examine the flowers more closely. Frisk points out what they all are, for the ones he doesn’t know. Bluebells, purple hyacinth, red tulips, red roses… and in the middle, a single midnight blue one. All tied together with a neat white bow.

“Where’d ya find this, kiddo?” He asks slowly, half sure he knows the answer already.

Frisk shrugs and indicates a point just outside of the grass circle. When asked if they saw whether anyone had put them there they shook their head ‘no’.

Geno gently takes the bouquet and examines it more closely. He has a feeling he knows who left the flowers, but the question is _why?_ An apology? Some… bad attempt at flirting? And why wouldn’t he show himself instead of just leaving the flowers here?

Frisk says they’re pretty, and he agrees hesitantly. They ask what’s wrong, and he says that nothing is wrong; he doesn’t answer when they ask if he knows who left the flowers. He only nods when Frisk asks if they can hold the bouquet again, and as the child admires them he steps haltingly off the circle of grass, outside of safety, and gazed out into the void.

“What are you playing at, Death…?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaah I'm sorry this took so long for being so short,,, I've been unmotivated but the next chapter will be better I swear.


End file.
